Yuletide mortification
by Judin
Summary: Draco accepts the consequences of losing a bet to Dumbledore's portrait.  Post-DH. Mild H/D


**Author's note:** Post-DH AU. Yule Ball. 

As always, Professor Flitwick had outdone himself with the decorations for the Yule Ball. The floor and walls of the Great Hall were icy blue and the ceiling above was charmed to look like a starry midnight sky. Hundreds of white candles drifted lazily above the dance floor, their flames throwing a golden glow on the happy faces below. The four house tables had been pushed up against the walls, two of them laden with food on silver plates that never seemed to empty, the two others covered in dark table cloths and strewn with huge, cold snow-crystals.

The first obligatory dances of the evening had come and gone, led by the Head students and the Prefects, and the air was filled with pleasant talk and gentle music.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was just returning to the staff table, having gone to provide herself with some of the delicious snacks provided for the occasion. She sat down in her high-backed chair, placed precisely in the middle of the long table, and was just about to decide on which delectable morsel to eat first, when she noticed that not everyone at the table was sharing in the holiday cheer.

Two unoccupied chairs to her left sat a decidedly grumpy Defence-Against-the-Dark-Arts Teacher.

McGonagall took a quick sip from her goblet of butterbeer to hide the beginnings of a smile. Then she cleared her throat, adopted a look of mild concern and asked, "Is something the matter, Professor?"

A white-blonde head rose slowly from where it had been leaning on an elegant hand. "Not yet, Headmistress."

He was a terrible actor, he loved the attention, and was about to get his just desserts, but she didn't want to spoil it yet, so she continued to feign innocence in a more serious tone. "But you anticipate some trouble? I certainly hope it will not interfere with the feast."

Professor Malfoy, put his pointed chin back in his hand and traced the edge of his empty plate with one long finger. "It might. I'm not sure what form it will take yet."

But while he was fun to indulge, he was even more fun to tease, and given his way he might have spent half the evening making her haul the story out of him, so she cut to the chase. "Actually, Professor, I believe I can help you there."

He sat up much faster this time, all pretence gone in the face of surprise. "You can?"

She folded her hands carefully on the tabletop. "It just so happens that Professor Dumbledore told me of your little ... bet, and how you, unfortunately, lost."

For a moment, Draco didn't move, though his cheeks grew red. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And did the late Professor tell you what form of gruesome torture I, as the loser, am to be subjected to tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, he did," McGonagall replied lightly. "But here comes Professor Potter, and I believe he intends to enlighten you. I should leave it to him."

Harry was indeed making his way across the floor, heading straight for them, and the look on Draco's face as he realised his nemesis was involved was priceless.

For a moment McGonagall wondered at the two boys, for as boys she still thought of them, though they were now in their late twenties. Harry wore black dress-robes over a white shirt and his hair was sticking out at odd angles. He looked like a larger version of the student he had been years ago. Draco on the other hand, had changed, though mostly on the inside. He still dressed immaculately (in a long green tunic and dark pants for the evening), looked perpetually bored or on the verge of a sneer, and would happily wheedle and whine his way into the centre of attention if more than a few minutes passed without any action. But he had taught Defence for almost two-and-a-half years now, and though incurably biased in favour of his Slytherin students, he was one of the more popular teachers, competent and able to connect with the children on their own level. He was also respectful and even open towards his colleagues.

For the most part.

As Harry reached the table, a mischievous glint in his eye told McGonagall that he was looking forward to paying his rival back for the incident with the blast-ended skrewt that had appeared in his bed last week.

Draco glared up at Harry. "Scarhead."

"Ferret." Harry then turned to McGonagall. "Those are some lovely dress robes, Headmistress."

"Why thank you, Professor," she returned pleasantly, enjoying the impatient scowl on Draco's face. "Are you enjoying your evening so far?"

He grinned. "Very much, Headmistress, but I think the night is about to get even better."

Draco rose abruptly, slamming his hands onto the table. "Well, out with it then! I know Dumbledore sent you! I can't believe I didn't see this coming; even as a painting he fawns all over you."

Harry faked surprise. "Patience, Malfoy, it isn't time yet." He pressed his lips together, shrewdly considering. "However, I should give you some time to prepare for what's to come. It's the right thing to do."

Draco was almost trembling, his expression apprehensive, unaware that he was leaning further and further across the table. "Well?"

"In an hour's time there will be another dance," Harry said quietly. "I have asked to open it, and you are going to be my partner."

Draco gaped at Harry, completely oblivious to having dipped some of his waist-long hair into his goblet of pumpkin juice.

McGonagall took another swing of her own to conceal what would have been a very undignified giggle.

~'~'~

Harry passed the hour with Hagrid, eating and chatting. Every now and then he would search the room for Malfoy, and though the blonde did his best to appear to have forgotten the entire bet, Harry caught him glancing nervously at the clock above the doors more than once.

In the final few minutes, Harry began to feel the tension as well, his stomach tightening in nervous excitement. While he intended to make sure that the embarrassment was entirely on Malfoy's side, they would both be out there on the floor, watched by everyone. Finally, the little orchestra hired in began to assemble themselves on the stage. It was time.

Harry rose, shared a grin with Hagrid and headed out to find Malfoy. At the staff table, McGonagall had risen and was calling for the attention of the students.

"Ladies and gentlemen, another dance is about to begin, and this time we've been lucky enough to have two professors volunteer to lead the way." She paused for a moment. "I recommend you do not miss this."

Unable to spot his rival in the crowd, Harry thought for a moment that Malfoy had chickened out, but then there was a tap on his shoulder and he turned to find Malfoy standing, collected, though flushed, right behind him.

"Looking for me, Potter?" He looked perfectly haughty, clearly on the defensive.

"Thought you had made a break for it."

A sharp eyebrow rose on Draco's pale forehead. "I always uphold my end of bets."

"These days," Harry returned, remembering a would-be midnight duel that had ended in a alarming encounter with a three-headed dog.

Draco drew his wand and conjured a long black ribbon from thin air before pulling his hair over his shoulder and tying it into a loose ponytail. "I finally decided that if I'm going to be your dancing partner I'm going to be the best you've ever had."

Harry rolled his eyes and began to make his way through the crowd towards the dance floor. Draco followed him. The buzz of voices rose and took on a note of surprise and amusement as the two men faced each other on the floor. Harry looked around and saw puzzled and smiling faces. The other teachers had assembled in front of the staff table. McGonagall was still hiding her smile behind her goblet.

Harry winked at Draco before taking a step back and bowing to him. Draco's teeth were clenched behind tightly shut lips and his eyes were even colder than usual. He bent his knees in a slow curtsy, but straightened up fast when several fourth years nearby broke into giggles at the sight.

Then the violins played the first notes of the prelude, and Harry took Draco's hand in his own. Draco was trembling.

"Nervous?" Harry whispered.

"Just keep your hands above the waist, Potter," Draco hissed as he placed his other hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Relax," Harry countered, grinning lazily.

Draco's waist felt surprisingly comfortable under his palm.

Then the music rose, Harry stepped forward, and amazingly, Draco let himself be led into the waltz with only a roll of his cold, grey eyes.


End file.
